


it’s gotta be flesh and bone

by Kazzy



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Kissing, x things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazzy/pseuds/Kazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven times Felicity and Laurel kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Well, no one else was writing it. :)  
> Disclaimer: I own neither Arrow nor the title which is lyrics from Old Soul by Thea Gilmore.
> 
>  
> 
> **Set a year or two into the future.**

1.  
The wound isn’t that bad in the grand scheme of things – certainly Felicity’s patched up far worse from their little team of vigilantes – but the fact that it nearly was worse, fatal even, is what shakes her. Laurel’s limp and slight loopiness from pain meds does not help in anyway make her feel better. Just a graze – which were pretty much exactly Oliver’s words as he and Dig half carried the heavily bleeding Laurel in through the door.

But bandaged up and dosed, Laurel still needs someone to drive her home. Felicity volunteered without much of a thought because being around Laurel is always the right choice to make.

Laurel does not need to be carried out to the car but slings an arm over Felicity’s shoulders when she wraps her arms around her waist. Mostly it’s about guidance and making sure that Laurel doesn’t run into any walls or trip over her own feet (which she does and would have fallen if not for Felicity catching her). The support needed is minimal and Felicity suspects that had Laurel not been drugged to the gills she’d have insisted on walking unassisted. But this is nice – more than nice – even if Felicity feels a little like a creeper for enjoying the other woman’s warmth and closeness.

She’d never take advantage but that’s never stopped her falling for the most unattainable people. Call it a flaw, if you like, she wouldn’t disagree. But she calls it cruel that the world keeps exposing her to these amazing people and not having them notice her.

“You’re pretty.”

“What?” Felicity nearly drops the handbag that she’s searching for her keys in at the statement. Bad enough that Laurel’s breath has been tickling her cheek the entire time but to have those warm eyes settle on her face – a little unfocussed – a slight smile curving upwards is torturous.

“The worst part is you don’t know…” she sways against Felicity.

“Don’t know I’m pretty?” Felicity finally locates her keys and snatches them up as if they are a life line and she’s drowning (she is). It takes her two tries to press the button to unlock the car.

A slight pause colours the moment. “Don’t know that everyone thinks you’re pretty. Which you are. Pretty.”

Felicity all but tips the other woman into the car. “Right. Okay. Great. Put your seatbelt on.” She has nightmare vision of Laurel being thrown around in her drugged state. “Stop talking.” She slams the door, looks up at the sky and mouths ‘why?’ at the stars.

Why if she had to fall for a superhero couldn’t it have been one that might love her back?

Laurel isn’t particularly chatty on the ride to her apartment and she certainly doesn’t comment on Felicity’s looks again but it’s clear she’s a long way from sober so Felicity helps her up to her apartment and into bed. She squashes an urge to press a kiss to the other woman’s head or stroke her hair or anything else really weird. Laurel has shown a particular talent to remember everything that happens to her in crystal clear detail while drunk or high.

She grabs a blanket and a pillow from Laurel’s closet so she can curl up on the couch in case she’s needed in the night. If the universe is kind Laurel will sleep through until mid-morning, giving her body some time to heal before she thinks about training or taking on anymore bad guys. If Laurel is smart then this wouldn’t be a problem, but despite being an incredibly talented, intelligent woman, Laurel is absolutely idiotic when it comes to her own body and its limits. She’s as bad as, maybe worse, than Oliver with the way she needs to be forced to take care of herself. 

“It’s very unattractive.”

“What?” Laurel’s eyes are closed and her breathing even. Felicity had thought she was already asleep.

“The way you don’t care what happens to you.” They’ve had this argument before, more than once, usually after Felicity’s had several sleepless nights worrying about the people she cares about and their dangerous lives.

“That’s why I have you.” Laurel mumbles.

Felicity turns away, biting her lip so she won’t cry. She’s just tired and scared, adrenaline drained away. It’s nearly four am, late by even their standards. Coming home in the early hours of morning isn’t odd, but sometimes Felicity wishes the late nights were because she had been in Verdant, dancing and drinking, instead of under it hacking computers and monitoring her friends while they hunt bad guys.

Laurel's couch is comfortable enough for sitting on and great for movie night but it’s not so great for sleeping on. Usually, if she stays too late to go home, she’ll crash in Laurel’s bed for the night, but lately she’s made very sure she’s not staying too late. She doesn’t want to jar Laurel’s leg, anyway. But twisted in the most comfortable position she can find, she eventually manages to doze off, sleeping fitfully with troubled dreams interspersed with bouts of conscious worrying.

A muffled thud and a round of swearing wakes her from a dream where everyone she cares turned into zombies and tried to eat her. She had Oliver’s bow in her hands but she couldn’t bring herself to shoot them – not that she can draw the damn thing – instead she tried to reason with them, begging, crying, but they just kept coming at her without pausing in the slightest.

For a second after her eyes open she finds herself disorientated by Laurel’s sunlit living room. There’s an ache in her throat and tears on her cheeks, every inch of her is cramped and sore, hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

“Felicity? What are you doing here?”

She looks over the top of the couch to see Laurel standing in the doorway dressed in the underwear and camisole she went to bed in and nothing more. The bandage covering her thigh is white against her skin and she’s not putting any weight on her leg, leaning on the door frame heavily.

“Making sure my friend is okay. What are you doing out of bed?” She uses rubbing her eyes to disguise rubbing the moisture off her cheeks.

“It’s my apartment and I need to get ready for work.”

Felicity can only stare as Laurel starts to limp towards the kitchen presumably in search of coffee and breakfast. She flinches every time she takes a step. Felicity would like to believe that Laurel’s only being sarcastic, that she doesn’t actually mean to go into the DA’s office today, but past experience has taught her there is no limit to Laurel’s ability to be self-destructive.

She swallows back the lump in her throat reminding herself once again she’s just tired and worried. “It’s Saturday and you’re injured. You’ve had _maybe_ two hours of sleep. You’re not going to work.” She climbs off the couch trying to not notice her own aching muscles.

“Felicity. I have open cases. I can’t afford to be selfish. There are people who need—”

“They need you to be well enough to look after them properly! What do you think will happen if you work yourself to death? Or even just into the hospital? You need to take some time to rest and heal or you’ll kill yourself. Even if it’s just the weekend.” Felicity doubts even drugging Laurel and tying her to the bed will work come Monday morning, but if she convince her to rest for the next two days she’ll consider it a win.

“You know, not all of us have bosses who—”

“ _Don’t_. Don’t bring Oliver into this! Because I will call him and have him come and put you to bed.” She snatches her phone off the coffee table, flicks it on and starts scrolling through her contacts. 

But then Laurel attempts to cross her arms only to stumble sideways and Felicity finds herself across the room, an arm around Laurel’s waist to steady her. Her skin is cool to the touch and this close Felicity can see her eyes are a little unfocussed. The injured woman holds herself staggers for a second but then sways and clutches at Felicity for balance.

“I don’t want…” Laurel doesn’t finish her sentence, hissing a little as she allows Felicity to turn them back in the direction of the bedroom. Doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want to be weak, doesn’t want to be fragile, doesn’t want to hurt. There are many things Laurel doesn’t want but that’s not going to stop Felicity caring for and about her.

Felicity’s reasonably sure she’s been stabbed in the heart with a knife. “I know. But let’s get you back to bed.” She hopes her voice didn’t crack but she’s not convinced.

She helps Laurel into bed and turns away quickly so her friend can’t see her tears. Too late, though, as Laurel catches her wrist and tugs her down to sit on the edge of the bed. A gentle hand cups Felicity’s cheek and a thumb crushes the tears away. “What’s wrong?” Laurel’s eyes are soft and caring. Her question is a redirect, but as Felicity’s tired and she’s won the battle of getting Laurel back into bed she allows it.

And comes up with a redirect of her own. “Are you kidding? I spent an hours – literal hours – last night putting you back together and then you wake me up from a nightmare to shout at me and tell me you’re going to work. I’m tired and grumpy. It’s a horrible day and it’s not even seven am, yet. Why wouldn’t I be crying?” 

She gently takes Laurel’s wrist to pull it away from her face as she doesn’t want to see the look in her friend’s eyes or feel the kindness in her touch. She doesn’t want to see that look because it’s just her own projection of her own feelings and desires. Laurel sees Felicity as a friend – and that’s what she needs right now, not a love sick admirer.

But Laurel turns her hand around and takes Felicity’s, rubbing her thumb over Felicity’s own wrist. “Felicity?” She waits until Felicity collects herself and looks up. “Stop me if this is a bad idea.”

Felicity isn’t sure what she means, even when Laurel’s grip tights or when her free hand snakes out and cups the back of Felicity’s neck. In fact it isn’t until there’s little more than an inch of space between their faces that she actually understands what’s about to happen. Oxygen is sucked out of the room and Felicity wants to pinch herself because surely this is a dream – much more pleasant than the zombies, but a dream nonetheless.

Their noses bump and their lips don’t actually meet for a heartbeat or so and that gives Felicity just enough time to get over her panic that Laurel’s actually kissing her. She tilts her head so the angle is better and she can return the pressure, every nerve ending singing with desire. She’s thought about kissing Laurel, thought about all the situations that it might possibly happen in – and, yes, in some of those scenarios either or both of them were injured – but she hadn’t imagined the moisture still stinging her cheeks, the tightness in her chest or the slightest hint of morning breath.

Still the kiss is over too quickly and Felicity finds herself opening her eyes to find Laurel wearing a very sheepish expression. She can’t quite stop herself from licking her lips but the way Laurel’s own eyes follow movement manages to soften the blow of confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to and you looked like you might want me to as well.” Laurel’s expression is open and searching.

Felicity scoffs at the idea trying to ignore the flash of hurt in Laurel’s face.

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted.” She curls back into herself, away from Felicity.

Felicity stares and she’s sure it’s the exhaustion that makes her overthink this too much but it seems like Laurel might actually, truly, feel the same way about her as she does about her. She pushes the thoughts and the doubts aside for a second, because it looks like there might be tears in Laurel’s eyes and she doesn’t ever want that to happen again. Carefully, uncertain still if it’s a good idea, she leans in and kisses the other woman.

Laurel responds immediately, forcing Felicity to re-evaluate everything she’s thought about her for so long. When Laurel’s tongue traces at the seam of her lips, gently seeking entrance between them, Felicity opens her mouth and lets the intimacy of the touch chase her fears away. She feels herself pushed back into a sitting a position and then is tugged so her upper bodies are pressed against the woman who is kissing her with no small amount of skill.

When they breaks, their lips don’t move far apart for long seconds. Felicity wonders when Laurel’s hand ended up in her hair and her own under Laurel’s camisole. She opens her eyes are Laurel pulls a little further back only to see the upward curl of her lips and lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes. 

Quickly, though, the delight is replaced by a grimace of pain when she shifts.

Felicity jerks back. “I’m going to get you some pain killers. Don’t move.”

“Felicity…” but Felicity’s already in the bathroom hunting through the cabinet. She takes three seconds to rinse with the mouthwash she finds before returning to her hunt. Laurel doesn’t keep much in her apartment and certainly nothing that Felicity would consider strong enough for the kind of pain she’s likely in, but she does find a mostly used sheet of co-codamol at the back. It will have to suffice because, despite being a relatively weak dose, Laurel’s unlikely to risk anything higher.

She brings the pain killers and a glass of water back to Laurel and makes sure she swallows them – as strong minded and she is, she’s been known to spit pills out when she thinks no one is watching. And while on an intellectual level Felicity understands her fear of addiction, it doesn’t make the situation any less frustrating. But once the pills are gone she presses another kiss to Laurel’s lips and tells her to stay put while she gets them breakfast.

They eat quietly, in Laurel’s bed, not really talking about much of anything. Or rather, Laurel’s in bed, and Felicity’s sitting on top of the covers – because she’s old fashioned and doesn’t believe in getting into bed with the person she is kissing without the intention of having sex. And has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Felicity is terrified of pushing too far and having Laurel back off.

Laurel manages to get down a piece of toast and half a glass of juice before her eyelids start to droop. Felicity takes the tray out to the kitchen and comes back to make sure Laurel is actually going back to sleep.

“You need sleep as well.” Laurel twists on to her side to watch Felicity standing in the doorway. “I promise I won’t seduce you if you take a nap.”

Felicity thinks about going home. Then she thinks about Laurel’s couch. With a soft sigh, she slips out of her jeans and slides into the bed, trying not to feel self-conscious, because they’ve slept in the same bed before while wearing not much more than they are now. But those nights were before the crush and the kissing so ‘sleeping together’ takes on different connotations now.

She turns on her side to face Laurel, pulling a hand out from under the covers so she can waggle a finger at her. “You’d better not try anything. Absolutely no funny business. I know what you superhero types are like when you see a pretty girl.” She’s reward with a sleepy smile and a soft chuckle.

Laurel wriggles over, still being careful of her leg, then curls around Felicity, slipping a hand under her shirt, laying a palm flat on her ribs. Felicity supresses the urge to squirm at the sudden flutter in her stomach. Laurel slings her bad leg over Felicity’s and Felicity captures her ankle between her feet. The end result is intimate, not shying away from the new aspect of their relationship.

“Hey, you. You promised you wouldn’t try and seduce me.” But her fingers betray any anger she might be pretending by tracing patterns on Laurel’s arm.

“If you consider this seduction then you must be an easy lay.” Laurel says her lips ghosting around the shell of Felicity’s ear.

“And a cheap drunk.” Felicity turns her face so she can kiss Laurel long and deep. “But only for you.” She press her lips back to Laurel’s feeling the heady warmth spreading through her that could become a problem if she’s trying to get the other woman to rest.

“We should do this more often.” Laurel slumps backwards and Felicity’s fears that she’s keeping her awake are put to rest because she doesn’t think much of anything will stop her sleeping now.

“What, make out in your bed? Because we can do that again when you’re feeling better. I’m not doing all the heavy lifting.” What she really likes that she can now do all touching she wanted to do earlier but couldn’t. Stroking your friend’s hair and kissing her forehead might be a little odd but Felicity thinks that if you’re making plans that include sex then the touching isn’t all that strange.

“Okay,” Laurel mumbles, breath tickling Felicity’s cheek. 

Within moments they are both sound asleep.


	2. First Date

-x-x-x-

2.  
“So what’re you doing Saturday night?” Laurel watches Felicity absently chewing on a piece of carrot across the table as she frowns at her tablet before putting down her fork to swipe irritably at the screen.

“Helping Oliver track…” She breaks off and stares at Laurel, seemingly puzzled. “Why?” 

Laurel supposes that she understands the confusion as in the five weeks they’ve been sleeping together – pretty much the same length of time they’ve been ‘together’ – they’ve never set any concrete plans. In fact their relationship has continued on exactly as it had when they were friends: lunches, shopping expeditions and movie nights all snatched whenever a small window of time crops up – which is almost never. Just now they also try to fit in sex on the nights they’re not answering to work or hunting down criminals.

Fitting a relationship into an otherwise busy life is something that Laurel is not unfamiliar with but that was without adding in the dangerous hobby of hunting criminals that the law couldn’t or wouldn’t stop. Yet operating at what is basically ‘friends with benefits’ is not an acceptable compromise for the kind of relationship she and Felicity supposedly have. So she’s going to change it. “There’s this new Korean restaurant that I want to try. I thought we could go.”

“I’ve never tried Korean food before.” That Felicity doesn’t seem to hate the idea is something of a relief. “But…”

Laurel has to admit to feeling a small flash of hurt. “But what? I thought it’d be nice to do something together that’s actually something a couple would do.”

Eyes wide, Felicity set her tablet down and reaches across the table for Laurel’s hand, curling her fingers around it. “No. No. That’s good. We’re a couple we should do the things couples do. But… if we start ‘dating’ people are going to notice we’re together. Eventually. Are we sure we’re ready to do that?” Laurel narrows her eyes at the statement and she watches Felicity’s widen. “I’m not ashamed of you! I just want to have more time with you before people start to nose into our relationship.”

Laurel suspects she knows what Felicity’s saying and if she’s right then the other woman is in for a shock. “By people do you mean the press?” The press – or at least Starling City tabloids – have recently latched on to the idea that Laurel and Felicity are bitter rivals over Oliver and run with it. Laurel, who has been targeted by ‘journalists’ before, is mostly amused at how wrong they are; Felicity, who has never really had to deal with them for anything other than refusing to pass on requests for interviews to Oliver, finds the attention perturbing.

“No, I mean friends. I’m hoping the press never finds out about us. My mother is already torn between the idea that I’m either the world’s biggest slut or her new son-in-law is going to be a billionaire thanks to the tabloids. If she finds out about us via the newspaper she might just kill me. Why?”

Laurel swallows and tries to find the words to tell Felicity that their relationship is nowhere near the secret she seems to think it is.

“Who knows?”

“I’ve been threatened twice about what would happen if I ever hurt you.” The second had been Oliver and she’d just laughed in his face and then demanded that he give Felicity more free time. “I thought it was a little unfair as I’m supposed to be the ‘emotionally fragile’ one.”

“It’s probably that bodyguard you took out a couple of weeks back. He was like twice Dig’s size. I guess emotional fragility means nothing when you’d that strong. Oh, god. Who knows?” Felicity goes from panicked to thoughtful and back to panicked so quickly Laurel thinks her head is spinning.

“I’m trying to think who doesn’t know.” Aside from those they spend their evenings with, there’s also most of Laurel’s colleagues as well as her parents. “Most people are happy for us.”

“Oliver knows? Oliver knows and he hasn’t said… oh he has, hasn’t he? Everything makes so much more sense now. Including that conversation I had with your dad last week. He must think you’re sleeping with the weirdest person on the planet. Or not ‘sleeping with’ because your dad won’t think about it like that.” She drops her head into her arms, upsetting both her salad and her tablet.

“My dad doesn’t think you’re weird – in fact he likes you better than anyone I’ve ever dated. He hasn’t threatened to shoot you, yet, has he?” Laurel stands up and comes to stand behind Felicity, reaching out to comfort her. She’s right, everything does make so much more sense now but from Laurel’s point of view it’s Felicity’s behaviour that makes so much sense not everyone else’s.

“No. Well he did tell me he’s the one who taught you to shoot… He _was_ threatening me, wasn’t he? I’m just so used to Oliver’s brand of ‘grrr, don’t do that or I’ll use my sharp pointy projectiles’ I didn’t see it.” Her voice is muffled by her arms and the tablet.

Laurel can’t help it, she starts giggling, even as she brushes Felicity’s hair out of the way to rub her back. She knows she should be more sympathetic to Felicity’s concern – they do have to deal with a bunch of overprotective vigilantes – but she can’t help but find the situation amusing. Felicity is so smart that it seems almost impossible she’d miss the response to the change in their relationship.

“And everyone’s been telling me how happy I look. They’ve been telling me how happy _you_ look. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I thought I was perceptive.”

Laurel’s nearly doubled over with laughter. She’s no longer touching Felicity because she’s too focussed on making sure she can breathe.

“Please stop laughing. This is very embarrassing.” 

Laurel does her best to calm down but it takes a few minutes of Felicity looking at her forlornly for her to be successful. Finally she drops into the chair next to Felicity and gently takes her hand in both of her own, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles.

“So, Saturday night? I’ve told Oliver he’s not allowed to make you work every evening.”

She squeezes Laurel’s fingers. “And that’s another conversation that makes sense now, just like roughly half the things he’s said to me this week. But yes, Saturday night. I can pick you up at seven if you’re willing to make the reservations.”

-x-x-x-

Saturday finds Laurel nervously trying on a selection of outfits she’d bought with the specific purpose of the date. Thea who’d been roped into helping Laurel shop all day is now giving her opinions on the already pre-approved purchases. Roy who’d been nominated as packhorse is sitting in the main room with a beer looking like he might need to lie down.

“I can’t believe Felicity thought we didn’t know,” the girl says as she hunts for shoes while Laurel curls her hair. “What, did she think we’d miss the way you two forget the rest of us exist whenever you’re together?”

Laurel tries three different shades of lipstick before she’s happy. And it’s hardly important because Felicity has seen her in all states of dress but she needs everything to be perfect for tonight. Felicity deserves nothing less than phenomenal and Laurel is a long way from even closing in on the ideal, but she’s going to aim for the best she can. She just wishes she wasn’t so nervous.

“Why’re you so nervous anyway?” Thea echoes her thoughts, batting Laurel’s suddenly shaking hands out the way to applying her eyeliner for her. “She thinks the sun shines only for you.”

Laurel can formulate no rational reason why. Before she can answer Roy calls down the corridor to her that Felicity’s arrived, causing a spike of real panic to blossom. She’s not ready…!

Thea smiles and heads for the door. “I’ll keep her busy. You finish up here.”

Laurel checks her hair and make-up, puts her jewellery on and spritzes her favourite perfume before heading out into the main room. Felicity looks up as she enters from where she’s been explaining something about her purse to Thea and her smile becomes blinding. Somehow – and Laurel suspects she’s learned to fly as well – she’s across the room without being conscious of moving.

She presses a kiss to Felicity’s cheek. “Hey. You look good.”

“And you look amazing. Shall we?” She offers Laurel her hand and Laurel twines their fingers.

They say good bye to Thea and Roy and head out into the evening. The restaurant is in walking distance so they don’t bother with cars or cabs, simply enjoying the walk and the closeness. Laurel finds herself squeezing Felicity’s fingers periodically and that Felicity’s arm brushes hers just as often and when they have to wait at a crossing they lean into each lightly. One of the best parts of being with – physical intimacy, emotional intimacy – Felicity is that Laurel is now allowed to touch and be touched in all the ways she wasn’t before.

“So if I knew you were hiring a stylist I would have got my own.” Felicity says as they step out into the street and turn left.

Laurel looks at her slightly jealous lover not really seeing the problem. The pale blue dress and updo look stunning on her. “I didn’t hire a stylist. I asked Thea for some shopping advice. And you look incredible so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. Thea is like an entire Capitol Style Team all on her own.” But Felicity does sound mostly admiring and she certainly hasn’t let go of Laurel’s hand.

“An entire what?” Laurel doesn’t follow the fashion world very closely so it’s entirely possible there is some kind of designer that she hasn’t heard of yet. But then Felicity doesn’t follow the fashion world particularly closely either.

“Capitol Style Team? The Hunger Games?” Felicity sighs softly, the same way she does whenever she finds Laurel has missed some finer point of pop culture that she thinks she should know about.

“Is that the movie where teenagers kill each other in a reality game? The girl has a bow?” She thinks that’s what Felicity is talking about. The girl has a long braid and Thea keeps asking when Oliver’s going to grow his hair long enough for a similar style – much to his annoyance.

“Well, I know what our next movie night is going to be about.” Felicity smiles in what is likely to be anticipation of showing Laurel something else she loves.

“I’m not sure I want to see a movie where children kill each other.” Which is Laurel thinks is the reason she didn’t see it in the first place – not that she sees many movies with how busy she is all the time. But if she remembers correctly, this might have been one that Jo tried to coax her to go and see.

Felicity sighs again. “It’s social commentary.”

“I see.” Laurel’s not sure she does, but if Felicity wants to watch the movie with her she’s not objecting – on the grounds that Felicity has no love of gratuitous violence and so probably has a good reason for showing it to her. And she did end up enjoying Doctor Who, pepper pot aliens notwithstanding, and she now knows the difference between Matt Smith, David Tennant and that Christopher guy. “We’re here.”

The restaurant is small and dimly lit – clean and cosy – but the maître d’ welcomes them warmly and seats them at a quiet table by the window. The food is divine but Laurel is so charmed by Felicity’s delight and the few words she’s learned to order her food that she forgets to eat until reminded.

Nerves long forgotten, Laurel just enjoys her evening as the conversation wanders through small, every day topics, from Felicity’s annoyance at Isabel to Laurel’s recent high-profile win in court. The hours pass without being noted, food long since been finished, the bill paid, and they’re simply sitting talking, enjoying each other’s presence.

As a first date it is perfect, but it’s not really a first date. And yet it is. They’ve eaten meals together many times in the past but this is the first time there has been any romantic intention to the experience, and there is an unexpected energy that sits alongside familiarity. Despite all the hype, which was nice Laurel admits, any evening out with Felicity was always going to leave her humming with rightness.

They walk the long way home, holding hands. Laurel’s skin itches for more than the warm press of palms but the urgency is at bay and she can enjoy the company for what it is rather than what it might become. Felicity makes her happy, happier than she can remember being in so long. She wants to capture that happiness and hold it close, sharing it with only her lover but allowing the whole world to see.

At Laurel’s apartment door they pause and Felicity takes both Laurel’s hands in her own. They lean both lean in at the same time for a soft kiss – an unbelievably cheesy gesture and Laurel smiles at Felicity’s giggle. The noise bubbles up more warmth, turning to heat, turning to fire. No longer do they need to be patient, they’re home now and alone.

“This is a bit forward for a first date,” Felicity teases as Laurel leads her inside closing the door behind her. The gesture contains no hidden meanings only an intention that Laurel hopes – believes – is shared. “Will you still love me in the morning?” She is still happy, smiling, causing Laurel’s own joy to leak through the cracks of her personality.

“I think I’ll love for you forever.” Laurel stands in the door to her room waiting for Felicity to stop pretend to drag her feet and come to bed. But at her words the other woman freezes and she has a quickly review what she’s just said, disorientated. She is not the one known for speaking without thinking but maybe Felicity is rubbing off on her.

She means it, though.

But Felicity stares at her for seconds longer before swallowing and then moving forward again. “Oh good.” Her voice is thick with supressed emotion. “I thought I was the only who felt that way.”

-x-x-x-


	3. Stormy Night

3.

Felicity wakes one night to find a storm raging outside the apartment she and Laurel share. Her girlfriend slumbers on, undisturbed by the way the wind rattles the panes of glass and rain slaps against the walls in sheets. She’s seen many dark and horrible things in her life – storms are not enough to frighten her. But if she lies with her eyes closed she finds herself lost in the noise, tossed around by flood waters.

Finally she slides from out under the covers, grabs her robe from the back of the chair in the corner and goes to stand in front of the window, looking out at the wind and rain outside. 

Streetlights are floating lanterns, not really illuminating much of the street. Felicity can barely see the cars parked on the road outside through the thick fall of rain. For maybe a heartbeat she thinks that this is what it would have been like the night the Queen’s Gambit went down. She hopes that Oliver is safe and inside – not out in the rain, sitting on a rooftop somewhere.

Mostly she just finds herself lost in thought, as if the storm is carrying her away until she’s lost in it, part of it. She thinks about everything that has happened in the last few years from the time Oliver Queen walked into her office with a laptop full of bullet holes – smiling and lying the whole time. She thinks about finding him in the backseat of her car, bleeding, dying and being afraid she wouldn’t be able to get him somewhere safe before he was gone for good.

Felicity thinks about Laurel and how amazing it is to love and be loved – and to know that’s never going to die. She thinks about what her life would be without the other woman as a part of it or as only the friend she was before the first time they kissed. About the conversation they had about marriage and family and decided both were conversations for a later date. About the fight they had about Laurel working too late one too many nights last week. About the make-up sex.

She thinks about the way too many of her friends are injured and hurt in the pursuit of justice. How they’re often the only people standing between those who would harm and their victims. About how fixing other people’s lives sometimes only makes their own lives more damaged. How mental illness can affect the lives of even the strongest people, breaking them down until they’re nothing more than shadows of who they really are.

Felicity stands and thinks about her life until the wind starts to die away and the rain begins to lighten. She stands and thinks until there’s movement in the bed to her right. 

“F’liz’ty?” Laurel has propped herself up and is blinking at Felicity, looking so adorable and sleep rumpled as she always does (Felicity doesn’t know how she does it because she always looks like something that’s crawled from under the bed when she wakes). The brunette yawns and pushes herself into a sitting position. “Why’re you over there?”

“I’m watching the storm.” But she shivers a little, only just noticing how cool the room is.

“Sounds like it’s over.” But Laurel slides from under the covers and comes to stand over by Felicity, wrapping her in a hug from behind and pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder. “And you’re freezing. Come back to bed.”

Felicity allows herself to be pulled back into the soft warmth under the comforter and wrapped in Laurel’s arms. She starts to drift off, her eyelids heavy and her brain foggy. Before she falls completely asleep she leans over and presses a kiss to her lover’s lips, too quick for her sleepy girlfriend to respond. So Laurel chases her back and presses her own lips to Felicity’s. This kiss long and soft and seems to last an eternity where Felicity is pulled out by the floods of another storm – this one pleasant. When it is over, Laurel seemingly quickly drops off while Felicity watches.

“I love you,” she says.

“Love you, too,” Laurel mumbles back.

-x-x-x-


	4. Hospital Visit

-x-x-x-

4.

Laurel pushes back the rising panic and the mostly unfamiliar urge to punch someone as she hurries through the car park of Starling City General and then into the too familiar halls of the hospital itself. The winding corridors are cool and bright, soothing against the harsh heat of the night Laurel’s just come out of, but the pounding of her blood keeps her from noticing.

She takes two wrong turns before she finds herself in the right wing and once she’s there she has to ask a nurse for directions. But she finally finds herself outside the door she’s been looking for. She takes a moment to catch her breath and try to calm her heart rate to something that’s not going to leap out of her chest.

She pushes the door open and steps into the private room. Felicity is lying, eyes closed in the bed, skin pale with a livid bruise that stretches from the temple to the edge of her jaw and across part of her cheek bone – where neat strips of tape are holding a cut together. Her lip is split and she’s probably lucky her nose isn’t broken – like the arm that’s in a cast.

Her eyes open as Laurel closes the door with a sharp click and she attempts a smile that quickly turns into a grimace either in pain or at the look on Laurel’s face – which has got to be ugly at this point.

“Hey. In my defence you should see the other guys.” She’s lisping a little. “I mean. As my attorney you should see the other guys. I think they’re planning on suing me.” She tries to push herself up before realising that she has only one hand, making the movement awkward and ungraceful. 

Laurel feels she should help or point out the device that would lift the top half of the bed but she’s glued by the door, hands pressed against it while her breath comes in soft pants. “If I see the men who did this to you they won’t be able to sue you, because I’ll be on trial for their murders.” She isn’t surprised that Felicity flinches at the tone of her voice. She finds herself almost frightened by it.

“Laurel…” Felicity’s brows are pulled down, her lips pressed together.

“What were you thinking, Felicity?” And Laurel tries to convince herself that her voice isn’t now breaking.

“I was thinking I couldn’t allow that poor girl to be mugged – or raped – by those two guys. I was thinking that I knew I could put the fear of god into those two assholes. And it turns out, I was right, because they’re in this hospital under police guard.” Even injured and hurting Felicity is still stubborn as hell about defending her decisions, not giving an inch.

Laurel tries to drag out her own stubborn argumentative side but she’s more frightened than she’s ever been. “It shouldn’t have been you.” Felicity isn’t a fighter. She has enough skills to get herself out of beating – which is why she’s here arguing with Laurel and not dead – but she manages the computers not the fights. Her hunts are through electronic pathways, not out on the streets with the literal monsters.

“But it was me. They had knives, you know. They were threatening to cut her if she didn’t give them what they wanted. ‘Cut her face off.’ Neither of us got stabbed or cut. One of them did get stabbed, though – accidentally by the other one. He screamed and I broke his nose.” She’s not undeservedly proud of herself.

Yet all Laurel can see is all the ways the fight could have ended. All she can see is herself standing at Felicity’s grave, weeping. She presses her hand to her mouth, turning away, trying to hold back the sobs. It’s not fair because Felicity’s the one who’s hurt in a hospital bed and she doesn’t need to deal with Laurel’s fears.

Felicity sighs, a heave of her chest that Laurel doesn’t see, barely hears through the terror shouting in her head. “It’s different, isn’t it? Staring at a hospital bed and not out of it? Thinking about all the things that could have happened.”

Laurel still can’t look at Felicity’s face. “Stop it.”

“But it didn’t happen.” Behind Laurel there’s the slide of fabric on fabric and a soft thud. Seconds later, Felicity is standing beside her in a hospital gown, reaching for one of her hands and pulling it up to rest against an uninjured cheek. “See. I’m okay. They’re just keeping me overnight to make sure I didn’t rattle anything loose when I got punched. I mean, what if I had to ask Lyla for a A.R.G.U.S. password rather than finding my own way in?” She turns her face into Laurel’s hand pressing a kiss to her palm, heedless of her lip.

“You could have died.” Laurel strokes her hand back and through Felicity’s hair because touch helps reassure her that she’s really there.

“And how many times have you nearly died? But both of us are standing here in this room. Besides can dead women do this?” She leans over and presses her lips to Laurel’s. Just a gentle pressure that lasts barely more than two seconds but has to have hurt because Laurel can feel the broken skin against her own.

But it does serve as undeniable proof that they’re both alive and in this hospital room.

"You should be in bed." Laurel gently places a hand in the small of Felicity’s back, guiding her back and fussing with the covers, checking her for injuries beyond the obvious ones. “I should be looking after you, not the other way around.” But Felicity’s good at being the carer, better than Laurel.

Laurel’s the fighter, battling people in court and in the dark. She’s not good with other people’s pain. Watching them hurt when she’s powerless to stop it is her Achilles’ heel. If she can fight for them then she can cope but watching them suffer leaves her helpless.

“Hey.” Felicity catches her wrist from where she’s compulsively smoothing the blanket down. “Promise me something.” She waits for Laurel’s nod. “Don’t hurt them. And tell everyone else not to hurt them either.”

“What makes you think I would?” It’s not like getting past the cops and into those rooms would be difficult. It’s not like two injured thugs who were put down by _Felicity_ would put up much of a fight.

“I know you hate killing anyone and if you hurt them you’ll regret it.” Felicity studies Laurel’s face, still more worried about her than herself.

“They deserve to hurt.” She knows wanting to kill those men – knowing she can kill them or have someone kill them for her – is irrational. She knows Felicity is right she’ll regret their deaths more than anything, regret the marks they’ll leave on her soul. But regret and irrationality doesn’t change how she feels about the bruises on Felicity’s face or the cast on her arm or how much she wants to make someone pay for every second of pain.

"No. They deserve to go to jail – you taught me that. And tomorrow we can dig through the SCPD database to see if they fit the profile of any unsolved crimes so they can go to prison for a long, long time.”

“I love the way you think, Felicity Smoak.” Laurel drags a chair from the corner of the room and sits down beside her girlfriend’s bed.

“And I just love everything about you. Now go and tell whoever is sitting on the roof of the building across the street to either go home or go buy me flowers.” She leans back against the pillows, eye lids dropping for a few seconds.

Laurel considers lying but one of them will be there by now. She reaches for her phone.

-x-x-x-


	5. Proposal

5.  
The ringing of Laurel’s phone disturbs Felicity from where she’s drowsing against her girlfriend on the couch in the living room of the Queen’s beach house. The last couple of months have been difficult ones for both women with a trip each to the hospital, a stint on crutches for Laurel and a long hunt trying to stop the latest villain has left everyone stressed and tired. Oliver had graciously offered Felicity and Laurel the use of one of his family’s holiday homes.

At least Felicity assumes that there was a gracious offer. It may have been prompted. Actually the conversation almost certainly went something like: ‘Ollie, I want the keys to your family’s beach house for the long weekend. And Felicity’s undivided attention.’

“Let it go to voice mail.” But Laurel’s already grabbing her phone off the coffee table.

“It’s Oliver.” Of course it is and Laurel would never consciously turn away a call from Oliver just like he’d never consciously turn away one from her. So much for ‘undivided attention’.

Felicity’s not jealous of their friendship.

“Hey, Ollie. What’s wrong?” Laurel runs a hand through her hair and turns away from Felicity to stare out the window at the ocean.

Or not very jealous.

“No, she hasn’t been near her tablet or phone all day. That was the whole point of this weekend no intrusions from the outside world.”

Any jealousy that Felicity may or may not have been feeling quickly evaporates at what Laurel’s saying and the sudden stiffening of her shoulders. Her girlfriend spins and indicates that Felicity should find one of her devices straight away, still listening to whatever Oliver was saying.

Felicity has four missed calls, one from her mother and three from reporters – a combination that does not bode well for Felicity’s future peace of mind. She does a quick google search for Oliver’s name and draws a blank. Everything on him is a week old, so she searches for Laurel’s name and immediately two hits from the last three hours come back. Felicity opens the first – to one of Starling City’s most seedy tabloids – only to find the page opens with a picture of her and Laurel holding hands as they walk along the beach. The image manages to sand away the pleasant memory a little leaving something sour in its place.

Distantly she’s aware of Laurel thanking Oliver and ending the call. She comes over and kneels beside Felicity. “How bad is it?” She reaches for Felicity’s phone.

It rings and Felicity hits ignore knowing that she’s going to have to face her mom sooner or later. Wordlessly, she passes the phone with the articles on it over to Laurel and wonders how many computers she’s going to have to hack to make them all disappear and her mom forget that it ever happened.

“These aren’t so bad.” Aside from the first, there’s one of them kissing on the beach – just a peck – and another of them at the café they ate dinner at yesterday.

But Laurel wouldn’t consider them bad – she’d been the victim of much worse at the hands of the press. Quite aside from her years as Oliver’s – and later Tommy’s – girlfriend, there’s her high profile cases and the recent fixation on their ‘catfight’ over Oliver. And then there’s the pictures of her from the weeks after the Queen’s Gambit went down including one of her entering the church for her sister’s funeral. There’s also a picture floating around of her, taken about two years after Oliver was lost, outside a nightclub, half-naked and making out with Tommy.

By Laurel’s standard, these are pretty tame. But until the whole ‘catfight over Oliver’ debacle Felicity’s never had any kind of media attention. She’s never had to field intrusive questions about her sex life from reporters who believe they have a duty to share every aspect of it with the world (or rather Starling City). She’s never had people lie in wait for her at her favourite coffee shop and hound her with minor details of her childhood that she’s forgotten about.

"So are you cheating on Oliver or am I?" she asks, not sure if she's going to cry or scream.

“They seem to be implying that we both are. Apparently we’re sleeping together out of revenge for him sleeping with both of us behind each other’s backs.” Laurel sounds impressed more than anything, a note of amusement peeping through.

“Great. They’ve reduced our year long relationship to ‘revenge sex’.” Felicity clasps her hands together so Laurel can’t see the shaking. She knows this will blow over quickly and that it’s not like she going to lose her job, girlfriend or friends over this. But it’s horrible seeing someone print such horrible things.

Her phone rings again, a jarring sound that seems to impatiently fill the room. Felicity has the ringer set to a low volume but hearing it now she wonders how she missed it before – it’s so very loud. 

Laurel looks up and holds out the phone. “It’s your mom. Are you going to keep ignoring her or do you want me to take the call?” Laurel asks.

Felicity considers letting Laurel take the call as she’d undoubtedly handle it better than Felicity but that’s not going to help in the long run. “No.” She takes the phone back. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

“You could start with telling her that she doesn’t really want a billionaire playboy for a son-in-law. If that doesn’t work you could always pass on my dad’s phone number – he’ll convince her. And probably give her a few sleepless nights while he’s at it. Then you could tell her you’re happy.” Her tone is light but her eyes are serious. She squeezes Felicity’s arm.

Felicity appreciates the attempt at humour and comfort but that’s not going to help her with her mother who has about as much of a sense of humour as Isabel – less maybe. “Hi Mom.” She heads upstairs to their bedroom, she’s not sure she wants Laurel to witness the conversation itself.

As her mother immediately launches into a tirade about finding out her daughter is having an affair – behind her potential future husband’s back – Felicity reflects that she really should have told her parents about Laurel months ago. It’s not like every other person in her life – barring her siblings – doesn’t know how much she loves Laurel. It’s not like the two of them don’t eat dinner with Quentin at least once a week. Felicity’s even had a lunch date and a shopping trip with Laurel’s mother in which Dinah spent the entire time talking about how happy Felicity was making her daughter and Laurel spent the entire time blushing and whining like a teenager. 

Thea’s been planning their so far non-existent wedding for months.

Everyone is happy for them except, it would seem, Felicity’s overbearing mother and downtrodden father. Likely all her siblings will follow suit after hearing an earful from mom. But three of them were married within two years of finishing college and the fourth when she was nineteen (baby born six months later). Felicity, eternally the black sheep, has been defying expectations from the first time she ever touched a computer to the time she graduated MIT and made a beeline for Starling City and Queen Consolidated, no prospective husband in sight.

The phone call lasts forty minutes and Felicity manages to appease her mother with the knowledge that she and Oliver were never something that was going to happen and that she and Laurel really are happy together. The potential for a wedding – winter, maybe spring – helped soothe a few ruffled feathers but Felicity hates having to promise that much. She and Laurel have only just started talking about that possibility and it feels intrusive to tell her mother when no one else knew.

She sits in the dim quiet of the bedroom for long minutes until a knocking on the door disturbs her. Laurel sticks her around it. “Safe to come in?”

Felicity doesn’t move from her place on the unmade bed, nodding glumly, wondering how she’s going to break the news of their apparently impending nuptials to her girlfriend. Laurel sits beside her, tugging her hand into her, squeezing her fingers.

Felicity drops her head to Laurel’s shoulder. “So do you prefer a winter wedding or a spring one? Because my mother is very attached to January but she also thinks May would be nice – for the flowers.” Felicity doesn’t bother to hide her bitterness.

“She doesn’t have to decide our wedding for us. We can get married whenever we want.” Laurel says, gently.

“Yeah. Try telling her that. Actually we should let Thea tell her that.” Felicity pulls up her contacts list and thinks about calling the younger woman and letting her do the damage. If anyone can stand up to her mother it’d be Thea Queen.

“Well that would be an interesting argument.”

Felicity pictures the resulting fireworks and can’t help but snicker in agreement. “She’s flying up to meet you next weekend. So if you have any plans let me know so I can cancel or if you don’t have plans please make some.”

Laurel doesn’t respond for long minutes, instead playing idly with Felicity’s fingers, twisting them in her own, drumming with them lightly, massaging her knuckles. “Is it the thought of actually getting married that bothers you or the thought of getting married when your mother tells you to?”

“Well the last person who got married when my mother told her to is now a single mother, pretending her ex isn’t in prison, so I’m sorry for being apprehensive.” And Felicity feels for Meredith, she really does, but it doesn’t make her sister any more likeable – especially as Felicity was the one who told her not to go through with it in the first place. She stands and starts to pace unable to sit still.

“We could always get married in the summer just to spite her,” Laurel muses still sitting on the edge of the bed.

Felicity nearly snaps back a reply without thinking but she only gets as far as opening her mouth before the importance of Laurel’s words sinks in through the haze of frustration. With a sudden burst of luminance Felicity realises that Laurel has been talking around this for a while and she hasn’t noticed. 

“Is this you proposing?” Laurel’s eyes widen and Felicity can almost see her revising what she’s just said. “Because if you are you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Laurel stands and Felicity is suddenly reminded that her girlfriend is several inches taller than her. “And you’ve been dodging the topic for weeks, refusing to commit either way.”

“Well it’s not like you’ve actually asked.” Felicity folds her arms and narrows her eyes.

“Why should I be the one asking?” Laurel rocks back on her heels but gives nothing in her expression.

“Why shouldn’t you be?”

“Fine.” And Felicity, like for most milestones in their relationship, has half a second to realise what’s coming. “Felicity Smoak will you marry me?”

Felicity spends most of her time around a bunch of snarky superheroes so it’s not surprising that she’s picked up a few bad habits along the way. On the other hand, you aren’t supposed to ask someone to marry you during a fight. “Oh. Wow. That’s gracious.”

If she ever slapped Laurel, she supposes that her girlfriend would look just as confused, angry and hurt as she does now. Laurel throws up her hands and spins on her heel to storm out of the room and Felicity realises just how badly this is about to end. “Laurel wait.” She rushes after her, catching her in the door by the wrist, pulling her around. “Hey, stop.”

Laurel yanks herself free, taking half a step backwards but thankfully not going anywhere.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I mean. I want to marry you. I just…”

Laurel pinches the bridge of her nose and turns to the side.

“I don’t want to do this because of my mother. I… do you have any idea how amazing you are? You’re strong and fast and you hunt bad guys and you’re compassionate and hot and gorgeous and everyone knows you’re perfect for me – but that I’m not your type—”

“What does ‘a type’ and your mother have to do with anything?” Laurel asks, turning back, hands falling to her sides. “Because neither of them has anything to do with how I feel about you.” Her voices cracks on the word ‘feel’ and Felicity’s heart breaks a little. “I love you, Felicity. I want to marry you – spend the rest of my life with you – but you don’t seem to want to marry me. Why not?”

“No. No.” Felicity reaches out and grabs Laurel’s hand, trapping it between her own, pulling it against her chest. “I want to marry you. I said that. Didn’t you hear me say that? I said it. I want to spend my life with you and I want to wake up next to you every day – even though we do that anyway, but I want to do that as your wife – and I want to wear a ring that tells everyone that I’m yours. I want to want those things when we’re old and grumpy. And I want to have kids with you—” Laurel’s shoulders have rolled back a little and there’s something like a smile on her lips but she jerks at the last sentence. “And we haven’t talked about that and it’s a topic for another day and let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything.” She sucks in a deep breath.

“But I do want to marry you so will you please marry me?” And actually waiting for an answer is more painful that she would have expected – especially as Laurel proposed to her first. She has a little more empathy for her girlfriend, maybe fiancée, now.

"Of course I'm going to marry you,” says Laurel somewhere between a heartbeat and an eternity later.

And then they're kissing which quickly becomes removing each other's clothes as they trip over to the bed and rumple the covers even more than they already were.

-x-x-x-


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desperately needed some fluff today so it was perfect that I had this chapter ready to go.

6.

They’re not hiding from their wedding guests to make out. Or not just to make out… there may have been some making out – if Laurel can judge by the way Felicity’s lipstick is smudged… hers may be smudged, too, if the way Felicity is gently rubbing a thumb round her mouth is any indication. 

“We should leave.” And Laurel has to admit that leaving sounds like a really great idea. Leaving means being able to touch her _wife’s_ body instead of pawing around the – admittedly pretty – dress. Leaving now would mean that they have plenty of time for some very hot pre-honeymoon sex.

“We can’t leave. It’s our wedding reception.” Laurel twists her ring round her finger. Yellow gold and diamonds, the ring is spiked and glittering and Laurel is a little mesmerised by the way it catches the light. How could Felicity have chosen anything quite so perfect? How could anything quite so perfect exist?

“It’s our wedding reception. We’re expected to leave.” Felicity takes Laurel’s hand and kisses her ring, slipping her tongue between her fingers making Laurel shudder. She has to admit the argument is convincing and with her eyes sparkling like that Laurel’s pretty sure she’d convince any jury in the world.

“We haven’t cut the cake, yet.” Not that Laurel cares about the cake in the slightest. She just doesn’t want Felicity’s mom coming after her with a knife if they don’t cut it. Laurel already sits on the edge of Smoak family disapproval she doesn’t want this to be the tipping point.

They both look up. From where they’re hiding they have an excellent view of said cake. “But do we want to cut it?” And Laurel loves the way Felicity’s thoughts echo her own and she’s actually saying them out loud.

“There are four hours until our flight leaves.” Someone has to be the voice of reason.

But Felicity starts to kiss her way up Laurel’s neck. “I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.” She murmurs sending light puffs of air across damp skin. 

For a second all Laurel can think is inappropriate thoughts about dragging Felicity under the table with the cake on it. But she manages to pull away, lacing her fingers through Felicity’s ignoring the pout as best she can. “One hour. We cut the cake, talk to the last few people, dance and leave. Then we go home to get our stuff… ‘take a nap’… and then head to the airport.”

Felicity grips Laurel’s chin and leans forward until their foreheads touch. “I think it’s odd that you think either of us might sleep at any time in the next twenty-four hours when we’re not on a plane.” She kisses her on the mouth hard before pulling back.

“Metaphor. Euphemism.” She pats Felicity on the cheek.

Her wife’s attention is quickly caught by something else: her ring. She examines it carefully from all angles, just like Laurel’s caught her doing all through the afternoon. Laurel has to admit to some apprehension as she’s always thought the ring is perfect – even more so now Felicity’s wearing it – but she hopes Felicity likes it. She’s the one who has to wear it, after all.

“You know.” Her voice is thick with emotion but Laurel isn’t sure which one. “I pictured so many rings, all of them beautiful…” she looks up and Laurel thinks she can detect a shimmer in her eyes. “But I guess my imagination must be that bad because nothing I pictured came in close to being this beautiful. What are those – they’re not diamonds are they?”

Laurel smiles. “No. Pink rubies. And everything you said. I couldn’t picture the ring you’d choose but this beyond beautiful.” It sits smoothly on her finger, its shape almost flame-like in its elegance.

They reach for each other at the same time and the kiss is soft and sweet and perfect just like so much else today.

Until they’re interrupted by the clearing of a throat. They look up to see Diggle hovering over from the other side of the table. “They’re looking for you.” His eyebrows flick up. “To cut the cake.”

He doesn’t understand why the two them collapse into giggles but they’re still snickering as they pull each other to their feet.

-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laurel’s ring, as chosen by Felicity   
> http://www.polyvore.com/mizuki_diamond_14k_yellow_gold/thing?id=93011321  
> Felicity’s ring, as chosen by Laurel   
> http://www.barneys.com/on/demandware.store/Sites-BNY-Site/default/Product-Show?pid=00505004253808  
> Felicity’s dress   
> http://www.weddingideasmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/20-favourite-coloured-wedding-dresses-Belle-and-Bunty-The-Bunty.jpg  
> Laurel’s dress   
> http://www.weddingpartyapp.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/navy-wedding-dress.jpg


End file.
